


Perfect Practice Makes Perfect

by sordes



Series: The Temple Harlot [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Archery, Established Relationship, M/M, accidental injury, t-rated chu shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: “I’ll be fine, even without a weapon. After all, you’ll be by my side.”“You think I’d do that? Even after you tried to kill me?” Gilgamesh asked, grinning.“Accidentally tried to kill you,” Ardyn corrected.The one where Gilgamesh tries to teach Ardyn a lesson and gets schooled himself.





	Perfect Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula).

The two of them rode for leagues, side by side, the wind whipping through their hair and the long grass alike. It was a clear and brisk day, not a single cloud in the early spring sky, and though the winds were sharp against Ardyn’s cheeks, from the sun’s emerging warmth he was sure it was going to be quite pleasant later in the afternoon. Gilgamesh had his composite bow and a quiver loaded full of arrows hanging from his saddle, and though they talked of all manner of things on the ride out, Ardyn found his gaze being pulled to back the bow time and time again. It was, after all, the reason for their excursion.

Ardyn had absolutely no desire to learn to wield a sword, or any other manner of edged weapon. He was a healer, the Oracle—his hands were instruments of healing, not instruments of death. But Gilgamesh was relentless. He insisted that Ardyn learn some way to defend himself, should the need arise, in a situation where Ardyn would be without Gilgamesh’s protection. If swords, and by that logic daggers, spears, or polearms, were out of the question, really the only option left was the bow and arrow.

Gilgamesh slowed his horse when they arrived at their destination, and Ardyn followed suit, though out in the wilds there was nothing but miles and miles of tall grass, lacking even a tree or boulder to serve as a landmark. Ardyn figured Gilgamesh had chosen the spot at random, making sure they were as far away from civilization as possible, though whether he had done so to protect Ardyn’s pride or to prevent any bystander being caught in a mishap, Ardyn couldn’t say. Gilgamesh dismounted his horse with a catlike grace and tucked the reins loosely in his saddle, then freed the bow and quiver from their ties. Ardyn sighed as he slid off of his mare; it seemed there was no more delaying the inevitable.

Though Ardyn had watched Gilgamesh loose countless arrows in the past, he demonstrated the proper form for Ardyn once more. Gilgamesh racked an arrow and, with seemingly little effort, drew it completely back and held it steady, explaining the finer points of his posture. Though Ardyn nodded at the explanation, Gilgamesh’s words fell on deaf ears, Ardyn’s eyes trailing over Gilgamesh’s taut biceps and down his back, wishing he could see the defined muscles of his back and shoulders, hidden by his tunic.

“Are you—are you even listening?” Gilgamesh asked, annoyed, eyeing Ardyn over his shoulder.

“I’m hanging on every word, I promise,” Ardyn replied, lips quirked into a smile.

Gilgamesh grunted in response, clearly not buying it, but barreled on in his explanation, wiggling a pinky here and there for emphasis, swiveling his hips and bending his knees to illustrate the proper stance. Ardyn couldn’t keep the smile off his face, no matter how many times he reminded himself this was serious, that Gilgamesh only had the best intentions at heart. But there was something so contradictory about the whole notion, the idea of Ardyn whipping out a bow and shooting his would-be attackers down, that it was impossible for him to take the lesson seriously.

Gilgamesh slackened his hold on the arrow and lowered the bow all at once.

Eyebrow cocked, he tossed the arrow down so it stuck up from the ground, and handed Ardyn the bow. “Not much else you can glean from me talking at you.” Gilgamesh pressed the bow into Ardyn’s unwilling hands. “Now you try.”

The bow was surprisingly heavy in Ardyn’s hands, and he turned it around a few times, admiring the craftsmanship. The bulk of it was made of a dense, dark wood, though the belly appeared to be made of some type of horn, likely from a ram or goat, as they were plentiful here. Ardyn ran his fingers experimentally up and down the taut bowstring, and he winced as he tried to pull it back with his fingertips, the sinew biting into his flesh in resistance.

Gilgamesh stepped behind Ardyn, slotting his chest flush against his back, and took Ardyn’s hands into his own. Ardyn startled slightly at the sudden contact, but let Gilgamesh maneuver his arms freely. He twisted his head up to scold Gilgamesh, despite the flush creeping up his neck and jaw, when Gilgamesh ground his hips lightly into his backside, but found Gilgamesh’s expression the picture of focus. Ardyn sucked in a sharp breath and shifted his attentions to the holds Gilgamesh pressed his fingers into.

When Gilgamesh was pleased with Ardyn’s form, he moved his fingers on the bowstring just above Ardyn’s and, gripping it with his two fingers and thumb, began to draw it back. Ardyn pulled back on it too, and with Gilgamesh supplying most of the power they drew the string back despite its resistance. Though there was no arrow racked up, the position felt dangerous, an immense amount of pressure and force accumulated in the weapon, a breath away from being unleashed.

Just as Ardyn was trying to grasp just what that meant—to have all that power to do harm quite literally at his fingertips—Gilgamesh brought the bowstring back to its starting position.

“Think you can do it alone?”

His breath was hot on Ardyn’s ear and his voice was a rumble that penetrated his back. Flustered, Ardyn shrugged off Gilgamesh’s hand from his on the bow and took a step away from him.

“Never know until I try. Arrow?”

Gilgamesh cocked an eyebrow at him. “Without first.”

“The whole reason you took me out here was to teach me how to shoot. How can I do that without an arrow?”

“Form comes first.”

“Gilgamesh, really, I’m never going to be as good as you are, or shoot a fly’s wings off from two hundred paces. As long as I can roughly aim and shoot, isn’t that enough?”

Gilgamesh sighed through his nose. Archery was a point of pride and prestige for him; it was more than a martial art, it was a craft one strove for mastery over. But instead of arguing, Gilgamesh pulled the arrow he had dropped earlier out from the ground and, like before, maneuvered Ardyn’s hands to nock it properly.

“Hold it like this. Tight,” he said as he squeezed Ardyn’s right fingers, ensuring he had a firm hold on the feathers that made up the fletching. He nudged Ardyn’s left hand, a fist around the center of the bow, so the arrow was resting over his thumb, the small bone arrowhead resting just beyond the outward curve of the bow. “Got it?” Gilgamesh asked after he double checked Ardyn’s hands.

“Yes,” Ardyn answered, and Gilgamesh let go.

“Alright, try and draw it.”

Gilgamesh made it look so easy. It was almost unfair, really. But given the size of Gilgamesh’s arms, and in comparison how small and undefined Ardyn’s were, Ardyn realized he’d been foolish thinking it would be easy.

Ardyn made a first valiant attempt to pull back the bowstring, and immediately realized just how much strength it required. The sinew bit into his fingers, and he had difficulty balancing his attentions between drawing back the bowstring and keeping the arrow nocked properly, not letting it skew up or to the side. He could hear Gilgamesh snickering behind him and redoubled his efforts, his tongue poking from between his lips in concentration.

“Sure you don’t want to try without the arrow?” Gilgamesh asked, his voice rich with amusement.

Ardyn didn’t dignify him with a response, too busy struggling to draw back the bowstring. His right arm shook as he fought to pull back the string, the arrowhead nearing his left hand as he made his shuddering progress, millimeter by agonizing millimeter.

“You can shoot it from there, if you like. My grandmother was one hell of a shot with a half-nocked arrow.”

“Very. Funny,” Ardyn ground out as he continued his desperate struggle. This was a matter of pride, now.

“Really, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I should have grabbed a lighter bow. That was my failing as your teacher.”

“It’s. Fine.”

“No, no, really. I just thought, well…”

“‘Well?’”

“That you had some muscle under those robes, I guess.”

That was the last push he needed. Triumphantly, Ardyn pulled the bowstring all the way back, the arrowhead nearly flush over his right thumb, his stance undoubtedly not _perfect_ , but at this point Ardyn didn’t give a damn.

“Hah!” Ardyn laughed, though his right arm was shaking wildly and his fingers were on fire from the tension running through the string.

“Alright, alright,” Gilgamesh said, flatly, though Ardyn swore he heard a hint of surprise in his voice. “Now aim at something off in the distance, and let go.”

“Aim at what?”

“Anything.”

“There’s absolutely nothing out there!”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Target practice with no targets? What kind of teacher are you?”

“It doesn’t matter, just aim and release!”

Ardyn’s arm was shaking violently, the sweat that had formed on his finger pads combined with the pain from the bowstring threatened to make him lose his grip at any second. But the notion that there was nothing to hit, and therefore no way to really gauge if Ardyn was actually improving or not, angered him greatly.

“Did you bring me out here to teach me, or just to make a fool out of me?”

“To teach you, of course!”

“So name a target! If I’ve nothing to aim for, how do we know if I’ve hit it?”

“Just shoot!”

Infuriated, Ardyn lost all interest in proving his manliness to Gilagmesh and began to ease in the bowstring. “You can be just insufferable sometimes,” he huffed as he lowered the bow and turned on the balls of his feet to face Gilgamesh.

“Ardyn, watch where you’re pointing that—”

But it was too late. Ardyn’s compromised arm strength combined with the sweat on his fingers made him lose his grip on the arrow, and though it was only half-nocked, it went flying directly for Gilgamesh.

Ardyn thought that in a moment of crisis like this, things would have moved in slow motion, that he would have been subjected to every horrific millisecond, watching the arrow fly its course and implant itself into Gilgamesh. In reality it was the complete opposite. It was over in a split second, the arrow leaving his sweaty fingers and hitting Gilgamesh square in the thigh with a dull _thud_.

Ardyn stared, horrified, and Gilgamesh, too, stood stock-still, eyes wide in surprise. Even the wind seemed to die down in that moment after impact, just letting everything sink in between them.

A moment later Gilgamesh yowled in pain and fell down on his ass. Ardyn threw the bow down into the grass and launched himself to Gilgamesh’s side, springing into administering first aid.

A torrent of apologies spilled from Ardyn’s mouth, each one crashing into the next, as he tended to the wound. Luckily, he had missed any major arteries and the femur, but Gilgamesh swore and writhed in the grass in pain. Swiftly, Ardyn pulled the arrow out of Gilgamesh’s thigh and tossed it aside, then sealed up the puncture wound with his magic, the warm, ethereal light spilling forth from his palm. This seemed to soothe Gilgamesh, and by the time Ardyn was through, he was staring up at Ardyn from the ground, his expression unreadable.

“I really am sorry,” Ardyn said softly as he plopped himself down next to Gilgamesh. He fished a rag out from his robes and began to wipe his hands clean, the knowledge that Gilgamesh’s blood was only there because he hurt him _before_ healing him nagging at his mind. “I hate to say I told you so, but… I’m not made to do this. I’m not meant to hurt and kill.”

“Seems like you’re more than capable,” Gilgamesh returned flatly, though from the way he broke into laughter a beat later, Ardyn knew he wouldn’t hold a grudge.

“I’ll be fine, even without a weapon. After all, you’ll be by my side.”

“You think I’d do that? Even after you tried to kill me?” Gilgamesh asked, grinning.

“ _Accidentally_ tried to kill you,” Ardyn corrected.

The next thing Ardyn knew Gilgamesh’s lips were pressed to his, Gilgamesh having grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him down. The stubble on Gilgamesh’s chin scraped against his, though not unpleasantly, and Ardyn delighted in the softness of Gilgamesh’s full lips.

They separated a blissful minute later, Gilgamesh looking thoughtful, if not a bit resigned.

“I haven’t given up yet, just so you know. So a bow’s not your thing… I just want to make sure you are protected.”

“I have you,” Ardyn pressed, kissing Gilgamesh again.

“And you’ll always have me,” Gilgamesh said into Ardyn before returning the kiss. “But as you can see, I bleed like any other man.”

Ardyn smiled as he got to his feet and offered his hand to Gilgamesh. “Good thing I’m a healer, then.”

Gilgamesh accepted the help and got to his feet, then retreated to pick up his bow where Ardyn had tossed it. “Good thing, indeed.”


End file.
